


Red Thread

by ultrafreakyfangirl



Category: Sweet Magnolias (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: Their lips touched, and then did a little more than that. Kissing Annie Sullivan was exhilarating, and had he known that he might have done it when he was twelve years old. Their lips came together and drew apart in a comfortable rhythm, as though they were meant to be doing this, all along.
Relationships: Annie Sullivan/Tyler "Ty" Townsend
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	Red Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after the events in the final episode of season 1. I love these two together, and was rooting for them the whole time. Childhood best friends to lovers is my favorite trope. Let me know what you think! Oh, FYI - I aged Annie down a year and Ty up one. I preferred that dynamic and as a fic writer, I have creative freedom. LOL.

The hospital was too big. It was too loud. And then, too quiet. All he could hear, or hope to hear, was the sound of his own heartbeat, his own breath, ragged, and scared. If he heard one more siren, its wailing shaking him to his core, he might lose it. Again. There was only ever one reason for a siren, bright and red and loud and drowning out the world that surrounds it, or, maybe, it surrounds the world, because in those moments between the noise of that siren and that sudden, halting, silence that comes afterwards, someone was dying, or maybe, they were already dead. Not them though. Not Kyle, not Annie. _Dear God,_ he thought, a cold rush of fear, running sudden, icy, and sharp, in his veins, _please, not Annie._

Tyler hadn’t known where the forcefulness in his thoughts had come. He knew he couldn’t bare to lose his little brother, to lose either of them, but there was something more there, something unsettling and unexpected, or, maybe not; maybe, it was grounded in truth all along, a truth he was too afraid, and too stubborn, to acknowledge before. Before _all of this_. Before losing the two people most important to him in this world, besides his mom and Katie, was ever, in this lifetime, on the table.

Now, the possibility was here, was here in the bustle of the hospital, in the sound of doctors being paged, in the brisk way the nurses walked to and from patient rooms, one making eye contact with him, raven haired, dark eyes, pale, reminding him startlingly of Annie, a pull in his gut; it’s as if the nurse noticed, those dark eyes turning compassionate on a dime, and he had to look away.

The waiting was room bathed in silence, anxious and tense; his mom was wringing her hands and biting her lip, Katie on the chair opposite her, on their dad’s lap, who looked just as grief stricken. The nerve of the man. Ms. Heather was slowly sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup that was no longer emitting steam, Ms. Dana Sue was staring blankly off into space, her eyes so empty that he wasn’t sure if she were even there, not really, and Tyler couldn’t blame her. None of them wanted to be here right now, none of them would choose to be here. Ever. He couldn’t believe it was happening. He really, truly couldn’t.

Just two hours ago none of this was real. Just two hours ago, Kyle and Annie were fine. Alive. Their lives weren’t hanging in the balance, weren’t determined by fate. She looked beautiful, so, _crazy beautiful,_ in that dress, a grey, silvery color, that it took his breath away. CeCe was hot, fierce, and attractive in red, but she was no Annie. No girl, he was realizing, could _ever_ be Annie, they wouldn’t even come close.

He saw her smile, when she was dancing with that other guy, Spencer, or Simon, maybe, was it, and she looked, to an outsider, by all accounts, _happy._ But there was a longing there, subtle, and soft, because she was nothing but classy, sweet, and wouldn’t let anything take away from her time with someone else, another guy who asked her out, because she did say _yes_ , after all. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. And Tyler had accepted that. But he wouldn’t let her go that easily, the flicker of hope still bright in her eyes, burning, betraying her mouth, those smooth, warm, lips, sweet with raspberry Chapstick and the slipperiness of vodka. _That kiss?_ _It didn’t mean anything._

He remembered what it felt like, the leaden weight of her, drunk, leaning into his side. He remembered her arms latching around his neck, like he was a buoy, clinging, desperate.

He remembered her voice, for a moment, nothing more than incoherent murmurs as she blushed, the rouge just as much out of embarrassment from the heckling from their classmates as it was from the alcohol. He felt for her. As a guy, for him, the teasing would roll right off of his back like nothing, but for her, it might last a little longer. He knew that it would. _Get me out of here._ There was desperation in her words, upset. _Please._

He remembered her surprise at herself when she threw up on her dress, raised eyebrows, a laugh puckering her lips. Something about it was… _cute._ She was only fifteen, and it showed, not that he had much more to show for himself tonight, at seventeen. He may have been sober, but still, he went to that party, still, he left her alone, left her to drink. So, he felt somewhat responsible for the state she was in, and more than that when he let her kiss him, and he didn’t pull away. He had been lying to himself then. He didn’t _want_ to pull away. He’d wanted to actually deepen the kiss. But Tyler Townsend was many things, but what he wasn’t, was a guy who took advantage.

When he caught himself thinking of Annie in a more-than-friendly type of way, he would force himself to stop, because not only was she the daughter of his mother’s best friend, or, one of them, she was his little brother’s first, and only, crush. He couldn’t do that to Kyle. The boy was heartsick for her. It was so obvious. So, when he thought about her, in maybe the same way Kyle thinks about her, he shuts it down, real fast.

He thinks of her still, because even if he shouldn’t have her in a boyfriend way, he could still have her in the friend way, and so, he does. His thoughts are of her when they were six and eight, respectively, and Ty was too cool to be seen playing with a six year old, but then his mom made him, and so there the two of them were, looking for tadpoles at the lake house and that day, he realized that Annie was actually pretty funny, sassy, too, _for a six year old._

There was the time when they were twelve, and fourteen, and Ty was convinced that he would impress this girl he liked by braiding her hair. So, he had Annie teach him how to do French plaits. Crazy, right? Maybe not. Maybe he’d try it on Annie, sometime. Who knows. He shut his eyes tight. _Who knows if she’ll even come home._

“Hey.”

He looked the direction of the voice, soft, comforting, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. His mom. “Everything’s going to be okay, you know. She’ll be fine.”

He sighed. Closed his eyes. Ran his hand over his face. Sighed again, louder, this time. His mom watched him, waited him out, before she spoke again. Even softer if that were even possible. “Kyle made it through. She will too. Annabelle Josephine Sullivan is a fighter. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

His mom looked meaningfully at him, then he watched her gaze flicker to Dana Sue, who still, by the looks of it, was lost in thought. Poor, poor, woman. Her only child, _her baby._ It’s what his mom had murmured to herself a bit ago, he hadn’t meant to overhear, but it was true. And it sucked. Even more than that, though he couldn’t dream of quantifying it, didn’t want to.

_Josephine._ It was a pretty name. Girly. Pink. Lipstick. Bikinis. Giggling. It wasn’t a name he would associate with her, middle or not, but then again, neither was Annabelle. She was just Annie. No, not _just_. She _was_ Annie. Annie Sullivan.

The girl who wears only Chapstick because the feeling of stain on her lips annoys her. The girl who prefers one piece swimsuits but will wear a mid-riff exposing top any day of the week. The girl who wears bows in her hair and will give guys like Jackson a run for their money without any hesitation, on the very same day. She was a beautiful, poetic, juxtaposition of a girl, and he was fairly sure he was in love with her.

She _had_ to be okay. She had to make it through this. For him. For herself. For _them._

“Family of Annabelle Sullivan?”

_Annie_ , Ty thought, suddenly bitter. Angry. But then everybody stood up and his breath caught then, processing the words he had heard. There was news. Real news. He stood up too, keeping a hand on the arm of the chair for balance, hoping not, but ultimately aware, that he might collapse back into the chair, in shock about whatever it is he is about to hear.

“The surgery was a success. Her head lacerations caused only minor swelling that went down without intervention. The break of her femur was pretty bad, but we managed to reset the bone. She’s in recovery. Slowly coming around. I’ll let you know when you can go in and see her.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Dana Sue rejoiced, hand to her heart. Everyone else, for their part, let out a collective sigh of relief, and Ty nearly fell back into the chair. _Thank the Lord is right._

About half an hour later, a nurse came and got them, told them they could see her, one or two at a time. Out of respect, everyone allowed Dana Sue to go in first, with her dad, too, and then the rest of them trickled in and out. Ty wanted to go last. Needed to.

When he walked down the hallway to her room about twenty minutes later, he breathed slowly, in and out. Stopping just outside her door, he took one, last, final breath, because he felt like, when he saw her, there was a good chance he might not be able to breathe at all.

He was right. Her head was bandaged, a shock of white in amongst that long, dark hair. Her leg casted, the same white against her pale skin, but, he noticed, no paler than she was usually. Good. She looked exhausted, her eyes a little glassy, and he was reminded in flashes of the night of the baseball fundraiser.

Annie, unsteady on her feet; Annie, asking him to take her home, at first, without words; Annie, telling him with aplomb and the grace of a first time drinker, that her teeth were brushed, her soiled dress in the hamper; Annie, looking at him, daring him with her eyes to stop her, from doing what, he hadn’t known, not then; Annie, in the next second, her mouth on his, soft and assured; Annie, sleeping, her breathing soft, kept safe in a tangle of sheets and serenity from the repercussions of her actions, her eyelashes gossamer against her cheek, her mouth partway open in a dream.

_God_ , it took everything he had in himself to put one foot in front of the other and leave that room, because Ms. Dana Sue would kick him into next week if she saw him there in the morning, even if it was on the floor, a pile of blankets underneath him as a pathetic excuse for a bed.

But now he didn’t have to leave. And he wouldn’t. Not this time.

He sat in the chair next to her bed and she blinked up at him, with a soft, almost reassuring, smile. “Hey there, Annie Bannanie.”

He spoke softly, reverting to her childhood nickname because all too suddenly, he couldn’t deal with the fact that she was taking his breath away. He saw her face fall but even though it was subtle, he saw it, and knew he had to change tactics to get his point across to her.

First, he took her hand in his. She let him. His thumb ghosted over her knuckles, his skin against her skin, tracing the ridges and grooves. “Listen, I’m so glad you’re okay, first and foremost.”

“Yeah?” She talked even quieter and there was a faint tone of surprise, and hope, in the word.

He squeezed her hand. “Of course. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t.” Silence passed over them. “How could you let him get into the car?”

“Excuse me?”

He almost smiled. There was the Annie Sullivan fire. He would have missed that. Amongst other things about her. _Everything_.

“How could – “

“So you’re blaming me for this? Real cool, Ty. Thanks.”

He almost believed that she would have gotten up and pushed him if she could’ve. She could be a little bit of a spaz if you hit the right buttons. He knew from Margarita Nights a plenty that her mom was the exact same. In Annie’s case, half of it was probably genetic, and the other half was growing up closely around boys her entire life.

“No. Let me finish. Annie, how could you let him get into the car, and then get into the car with him, knowing that I needed you, that I needed you to be okay? The both of you – to be okay?”

He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, in a mess of emotion, in the fear of facing what it was that he almost lost. _Who._ The vulnerability was unfamiliar, but he wouldn’t hide it from her. He wasn’t going to hide anything from her, not anymore. Not ever again. Every day with her was precious now.

“Look, I’m sorry I reacted that way when you kissed me, I’m sorry for how all of that went down. I never meant to hurt you. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do. What I really wanted to do was kiss you back, kiss you again, when you were sober”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She was taking this all in stride, surprisingly, matter-of-fact, as if she knew it would play out this way, all along.

“Because I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to make things weird between us. We’ve been friends for so long, Annie. And our families, and – I just couldn’t admit to myself that I love you.”

“Of course you do,” she cocked an eyebrow, but he knew her better than she thought he did. She was unnerved. He could see it in her eyes. In the way her gaze softened and lightened, and her shoulders unclenched, like she was letting go of something. “I love you too. We’re best friends.”

“No. You know what I mean. I _love you-love you._ Like, I want to hold your face in my hands and kiss you, I want to hold you close to me and never let go, I want to slow-dance with you at your senior prom, to stay with you that night until the sun comes up, to twirl you around at your high school graduation, put my hands in your hair and kiss you in front of everyone. I don’t just love you, I’m _in_ _love_ with you, Annie. And you need to tell me you feel the same, because if you don’t, I’m going to wish I were the one in the hospital bed.”

She laughed. “Shut up. That’s not funny.”

There it was. That matter-of-factness again.

“Just tell me, Annie.”

Again, her eyes softened, less of an almond color, more caramel. The tension released in her jaw, her shoulders dropped, her hand became tighter in his own. She just had to say the words now, but, really, he already knew, and she knew that he did.

However, she took a breath, and he knew she would grace him with the words, anyways. It was the least she could do for potentially dying on all of them tonight. _See? He could be matter-of-fact, too_. He could match her, one of these days. The thought made him smile, almost as big as those three little words.

“I love you. I love you, Tyler Townsend. And I have since probably the sixth grade.” She took another deep breath. “So, there it is. Now you know.”

“And now _you_ know.” He smiled faintly and leaned in. So did she, as best as she was able, and then their lips touched, and then did a little more than that. Kissing Annie Sullivan was exhilarating, and had he known that he might have done it when he was twelve years old. Their lips came together and drew apart in a comfortable rhythm, as though they were meant to be doing this, all along.

He grinned into the kiss, and then so did she, and then they were swallowing the sounds of each other’s laughter before they broke apart, their chests rising and falling in tandem.

And he couldn’t help but think that maybe they were soulmates, and not in that hick-town, predestined sort of way either, but real, true, _Japanese red-thread_ soulmates. She was on the other end of his string, and he, hers. And he felt different knowing that.

Different in the best way possible. 


End file.
